Photo credit: Regan Vercruysse via Flickr
With your magic lute, you enchanted us all. At first note, the hall hushed. Clanking cups, rattling dice, raucous laughs—all silenced in awe. Even the dogs and the drunks ceased barking to listen. We swayed to your rhythms, our hearts rising and crashing with your words.
You wanted to teach me, pass it down. But how could I plunk my pitiful ditties in the same room as you? In the same world?
Since you died, I cannot even tune it. The strings ring sour, accusatory.
It lays mute. For the stronger charm was never within it, but within you.
Word count: 100. Written for this week’s Friday Fictioneers challenge. Big thanks as always to Rochelle Wisoff-Fields for hosting, and for providing this week’s photo prompt (see below). Click on the link to read the other 100-word stories and poems, or to submit your own!
The title is a play on “rain shadow,” which is when a mountain range is so tall that it blocks the clouds coming from one direction. The mountain benefits from extra rainfall, and is lush and verdant, but the land beyond—in its shadow—is left a desert. It occurred to me that some fathers are like that mountain, whether they realize it or not.
Photo © Rochelle Wisoff-Fields